


"can i help you not to hurt anymore?"

by ScreamsInKFC



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, cause mcyt??, technically??? - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Injury, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Mild Blood, Panic Attacks, Protective Wilbur Soot, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), because winter sucks and somehow im worse than i was last year, but - Freeform, but that's near the end it's mostly hurt/comfort, don't trust me on mild blood i kinda lost my sense on that when i was 8 lmao, finally i remembered what that tag was called lmao, fluff's gonna be good though, heavily, it's kinda mixed yknow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamsInKFC/pseuds/ScreamsInKFC
Summary: Tommy tries to off himself.Emphasis on "tries".
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 219





	"can i help you not to hurt anymore?"

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Who cares if one more light goes out?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366178) by [S0cks_sss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/S0cks_sss/pseuds/S0cks_sss). 



> this is "who cares if one more light goes out?" but tommy doesn't succeed in his suicide attempt because, while i adore that fic, i needed to write a version in which he tells wil what's going on and gets help before it's too late  
> i couldn't help myself
> 
> there are mentions of blood and cuts and it's kinda graphic but kinda not. it is warning-worthy though i think(?)
> 
> however, the suicidal thoughts and actions are very prominent  
> there are also detailed descriptions of a panic attack. i wrote it to the best of my abilities with my limited knowledge considering the most i've ever experienced is a bad anxiety attack.
> 
> title is from "one more light" by linkin park, just like the fic in which this is inspired by :>
> 
> also this was originally meant to be a one-shot but i think it's gonna be a two-shot because my writer brain go brr and i got too caught up in it lmao  
> i proofread this via a word document reading this aloud and lemme tell you it is fucking hilarious to hear anything that's meant to be sad be read by a robot

Tommy was sitting on his bedroom floor, his left arm bleeding out with self-inflicted cuts and his right hand holding enough painkillers for an overdose. He was completely ready to end it all right then and there. He didn't want to continue any further. He was done. He was done lying, both to people and to himself. He was done ruining people's days with his annoying presence. He knows nobody cares about him--not really, anyway. He was just a burden.

He was completely ready to end it all, and yet he hesitated. Why was he hesitating? Why can't he just get this over with?

Tired blue eyes stared at the circular white pills piled in his palm, suddenly unsure. He wanted to go so badly. He wanted to die so, _so_ badly. So, why was he second-guessing his decision?

His stomach dropped, his being suddenly overcome with horror.

Oh, God. Oh, _God,_ what was he _doing?_

_You're doing what you should be doing._

His breathing picked up with the onset of panic. Through the fog in his brain that was made up of that panic, sadness, and numbness, one thought broke through to him.

He should call Wilbur.

_No, you shouldn't. He doesn't care._

Dropping the pills onto the floor, Tommy reached for his phone, fingers fumbling with the thin rectangular object as he unlocked it. He navigated to Discord and then to his messages with Wilbur. He paused for a moment, temporarily considering just going through with his original plan, before he tapped the call button.

The ringtone echoed around in his head for maybe three seconds before Wilbur picked up. 

**"Hey, Tommy! What's up?"**

The words that the older spoke were full of care and warmth; Wil was obviously happy to speak to Tommy. 

Tommy, however, was beginning to heavily go back on his decision to call Wilbur. He was beginning to believe the voice again. He didn't want to burden Wilbur with his issues. He shouldn't have called.

During his contemplation of his decision, Tommy forgot to respond.

**"Tommy?"**

The blonde exhaled shakily, staring daggers into the display of his and Wilbur's icons on his phone screen. 

**"Tommy, are you alright?"**

"Hey, Wil. How are you... uh- how are you doing?" he finally spoke, voice cracking not-so-subtly. 

He should just hang up. He shouldn't be doing this. He doesn't know _what_ he should be doing at this point, but Tommy was really not wanting to do this anymore. He should've just listened.

**"Tommy, is everything okay? What's wrong?"** the man on the other line questioned, concern thickly lacing his voice. 

Tears began to gather in Tommy's eyelids, blurring his vision. He took in a hasty breath before saying: "I should go". 

With that, he hung up, cutting off Wilbur as he left the call. He turned his phone off, though he continued to stare at the empty black screen.

Moments later, said screen was lit up again from a Discord call from Wilbur.

Great. Now he's worried Wilbur. Good going, Mr. Innit.

Tommy let it ring, setting his phone down in front of him and cradling his legs close to his chest. He leaned against his legs, keeping his phone screen in view. He listened to the ringtone until it ended, his eyes wandering to look at the many painkillers scattered across his bedroom floor.

Hardly even a second after the call ended, his lock screen was once again obscured by the words "Call from WilburSoot".

He was heavily torn between the options of just ignoring the call again or accepting and inevitably spilling his feelings to his pseudo-older brother. He desperately wanted to proceed with both. He wanted it to all be over with, but at the same time he wanted to be told that everything would be okay by Wilbur. A heavy lump formed in his throat.

Reaching his right arm down to the luminescent screen in front of him, Tommy reluctantly went with the latter option.

**"Tommy!"** Wilbur exclaimed as soon as he picked up the call, clearly panicked. **"Tommy, holy shit! What's going on?"**

"I-" Tommy choked on his words, his voice restricted. His gaze strayed from the phone screen to his left arm. The multitude of uniform cuts were still bleeding, the scarlet liquid dripping onto his carpet and staining his clothes. 

"Wilbur, I- I did- _Wil-_ " he stumbled, eyes darting from his phone to his bloody, mangled arm. 

**"What's wrong, Toms? What's wrong?"**

Long-sitting tears began to fall, trailing down the teenager's puffy cheeks. His chest felt tight. He was so terrified to talk about this. To tell somebody what exactly was going on. To tell somebody that he was, in no uncertain terms, not okay.

“Wilbur, I- I tried-" Tommy cut himself off, a sob ripping itself from his vocal cords, “I- oh, God- I’m trying to- to kill myself. Wil, I almost- I-”

Tommy barely picked up on a horrified gasp and a faint “Oh my God” filtering through the tiny speakers of his phone. He’d curled up more on himself, eyes squeezed shut and leaking the salty fluids he often found himself producing. 

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have told you-”

**“No, no, no- You don’t have to apologize, Toms,”** Wilbur scrambled. **“You don’t have to apologize for- for something like _this._** **I’m so, so glad that you told me.”**

A low whine dragged out from Tommy’s throat. His vision was blurry, probably due to the delirium from his cut-up arm and from the second batch of tears he’d spilled that day.

"W-Wilbur, I can't- I can't _do this_ anymore!"

**"Oh, _Tommy-_ "**

Tommy's breathing became unsteady and way too fast, every other breath hitching with a sob as the boy's panicked thoughts sped around the cracked and crumbled racetrack that was his mind. His shoulders shook heavily. He felt his cheeks grow wet, his tears staining the fabric of his jeans with damp spots.

“Wil, I was about to- and now I just- I don’t know what to _do,_ Wil! I don’t- I don’t want to be- I can’t- Wilby, _please,_ I’m _scared-_ I-"

**"Hey, hey. Tommy, Tommy, deep breaths. Shh, Shh. Deep breaths. You need to breathe. Please. You need to breathe, Toms. In, and out. Listen to my breathing. Please, for me?"** Wil spoke loudly, trying to get through to the deeply troubled teenager with clear words and exaggerated breaths. The older man's voice sounded shaky, as if he were trying to keep it together.

Tommy desperately tried to cling onto Wilbur's (courtesy of crappy phone call quality) crackly voice. He blindly pulled his phone closer to him so as to hear the older man better. So he could hear the inhales and exhales coming from the other line. He'd barely registered the words, but he tried to focus on the breathing. His tear-blurred eyes opened once more, unobserving gaze peering at the display on the phone's screen. 

He tried to follow the staticky breathing coming through his speaker. His replicated breathing cycle, however, was still incredibly uneven. Sometimes he breathed deeply but released the air far too quickly. Other breaths were just simply shallow, oxygen going in and out far too quickly. His chest was tight. Too tight. It hurt. His fingers dug into his phone case in an effort to ground himself, if only a little. 

God, why was he doing this? Why wasn't he just _dead_ already? What was stopping him from gathering all those pills back up and taking them right now? Why was this all so _difficult_ _?_ Why does it all hurt so _much?_ _Why?_

**“Hey, you’re doing great. Just keep breathing, please. For the love of God, please keep on breathing, Toms. Everything will be alright, you just need to breathe,”** Wilbur encouraged him, his calm (yet still panicked) words pushing past the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions plaguing Tommy. The sounds of footsteps and doors were vaguely audible in the feedback of the man's line.

_Everything will be alright._

That one sentence repeated again in his mind. He wanted to believe it so badly. He wanted to be okay, but he’s been quite the opposite of that for so long.

_No, you won’t. You won’t be okay. He’s lying to you._

Tommy struggled with his conflicting opinions. Why would Wilbur actively try to calm him down if he were lying? What if he wouldn’t be alright in the end? What if he just got it over with while Wilbur was still trying to help him? Was Wil helping him? It seemed like he was. 

He strained himself to push away from the internal war waging in his mind, making an effort to even out his breathing through the sobs and the tightness in his chest. He tried to focus on the simple mantra of "in, and out" as he battled the panic, the pain, and the clashing convictions of Tommy's predicament. 

The blonde took a shaky breath in, held it for a few seconds, and released it somewhat hastily. 

In, and out.

In, and out.

The process continued on for several minutes. Tommy messed up the unstable rhythm of breathing he'd built up every so often whenever his thoughts got to him or when his whimpers clogged up his airways. All the while, Wilbur was there, constantly providing him with gentle words of encouragement and comfort. Even through the distance between them, the older man managed to help. He managed to get across that he _cared_. The teenager grasped onto the words he spoke fervently, the soothing tone in which they were delivered with giving him an oh-so tiny sliver of hope.

He was beginning to lean in favor of trusting Wil when he said that everything was going to be okay.

**"Hey, Toms?"** Wilbur spoke after half a minute of silence between the two of them, Tommy having mostly calmed down from his bout of panic.

"Hm?" 

**"Are you... safe? Are you near anything that could hurt you? Or, are you hurt?"**

…

Tommy remained silent for a moment before responding with a quivering, exhaustion-slurred quiet voice: "...No. I'm- I'm not safe. An' my arm, it's... y'know".

He heard a sharp inhale from the other line. Tommy's red-rimmed eyes started to tear up again.

_He hates you now he hates you-_

**"Okay, okay- uh, can you get somewhere safer? Is your mum there?"**

"She's not here. Think she's- I don't rem'mber where she is. Sorry..."

**"That's completely fine. Don't worry about it, Toms. Can you get somewhere safer, please?"**

Tommy tried to lift himself up to his knees with his good arm, but found out very quickly that he no longer had the energy to. Whether that be a result from the panic or from the blood loss in his left arm, he's not sure (it was probably both), but he was incredibly exhausted now either way. 

Instead, he kicked away the razor still sat at his side to the best of his abilities. He succeeded in pushing it half way across his room, along with scattering the pills further away. He didn't want to disappoint Wilbur.

"I, uh, can't. I'm really fu- 'm really tired," he mumbled, tucking his bloody arm in between his thighs and his stomach. The thick fluids it still produced only succeeded in coloring his clothes further with its deep crimson hue. At the very least, the action should lessen its flow.

**"** (Oh no-) **Hey, that's alright, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that?"** Wil requested, worry thickly lacing his words. 

Tommy nodded, not realizing that the other couldn't see the lazy movement. He took a deep, shaky breath as his eyes unfocused.

**"Tommy?"**

Wilbur's voice snapped him out of his delirium-induced trance.

"Yeah. Yeah, I c'n do that. I- I can try."

**"Good, good. Can you keep talking to me, Toms?"**

"I... I think so." 

**"Okay, good."** Wil sighed, though he didn't sound as relieved as he let on. **"So, uh, how're you feeling?"**

Tommy let a tired laugh escape from him. "Terr'ble."

**"Y'know, that makes sense."**

His eyelids grew heavier as Wilbur returned a chuckle, albeit a sad one. He held back a yawn. Car horns beeping filtered through his phone's speaker. He didn't pick up on it.

"Hey, W'lby?"

**"Yeah?"**

"I r'lly wanna go t'sleep," Tommy murmured, leaning further into himself. His grip on his phone grew a little weaker and his vision blurred from drowsiness. 

He was slowly losing himself.

**"I** under **stand that** Toms, **but you** can't go to **sleep** yet. Please, **you** need to **stay** awake. Please, **Tommy."**

The teenager tried to listen, but Wilbur's staticky voice kept phasing in and out of coherency. It felt like he was falling below the waves, and the older man was trying to get his attention from above the water's murky surface. The dark depths dragged him down with promises of peace and no more pain, but the light shining from above beckoned him with hope and comfort. He wanted to succumb to both.

However, he wasn't strong enough to resist the riptide pulling him into the shadows.

With Wilbur calling for him from the tinny phone speaker, just trying to keep him awake and talking, Tommy 's tired eyes fluttered shut. Darkness swept over him with one fell motion and, just like that,

Tommy fell asleep.


End file.
